


For What Binds Us

by LSquared80



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Cersei only appears in the prologue and memories, F/M, Implied Incest, Mentions of death (Cersei and her sons), Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-05-28 18:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19400206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LSquared80/pseuds/LSquared80
Summary: Jaime Lannister is the disgraced former Sheriff of Mistwood and Brienne Tarth is on the run from the law.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story was born from having thousands of AU ideas and wanting to explore how Jaime/Brienne is great at subverting gender expectations. It owes a great deal to the storyline from Netflix's "Godless" involving Jack O'Connell hiding out in Michelle Dockery's barn. I wanted Brienne to be the outlaw and developed everything around that. 
> 
> For the towns, I'm using names from the book/show that sound vaguely Western to me, such as Mistwood.

**Part I.**

**Jaime – Mistwood**

The Silverhill Saloon had been turned into a makeshift courtroom. Jaime Lannister was seated beside his attorney while the prosecutor delivered his closing remarks to the judge, saying, “The blood of Federal Marshall Aerys Targaryen is still splattered on the walls of his own home! It was spilled there by Sheriff Jaime Lannister! He’d like you to believe his actions were heroic, but we all know better. We all know Marshall Targaryen was the head of the wealthiest household as far as the eye can see. And we all know Jaime Lannister wanted his power and his money.” 

Jaime listened as the lawyer rambled on and on, spewing lies. He twisted in his chair to search the crowd for Cersei but found only unfriendly faces – former friends, deputies, and the people he’d served as Sheriff of Mistwood since coming to town three years prior to help his newly widowed sister. There were times Jaime felt even she doubted his true motivation for shooting the Marshall. He only needed one person to believe him – the judge – but it was Cersei’s opinion that mattered most. 

A hush fell over the room and Jaime faced forward. His attorney had one last chance to speak for him and the old man took his place in the center of the room. “What I say right now doesn’t matter much. You made up your mind about Jaime Lannister the minute you were told he shot and killed Aerys Targaryen. It doesn’t matter how many times I stand here and say Marshall Targaryen was planning to set all of Mistwood up in flames and Jaime Lannister saved this town from a fiery death.” 

Jaime heard the squeak of a door opening and craned his neck to see Cersei take an empty seat in the back. He released a pent-up breath. 

“Every single one of you has already declared Jaime Lannister guilty as sin,” the attorney went on. “Which is why I stand here and beg you, judge, to take mercy on his soul. Let him surrender his badge. Demote him to nothing more than a ranch hand. Exile him to a life of labor. Believe him when he says he had no choice but to pull the trigger.” 

* 

He was returned to his cell while the judge considered both sides of the case. Jaime sat on the hard floor with his legs sprawled in front of him. He heard Cersei before he could see her, and the sound of her voice brought color back to his face. He hopped to his feet and listened to his sister talk her way past the deputy. 

Jaime buttoned his vest and squared his shoulders. He saw her approach and reached his arms through the bars, but Cersei kept herself at a distance. “What was that man talking about?” she asked. “Your attorney?” 

“He’s trying to make a deal,” Jaime explained. “He want-” 

“I know _that_ , Jaime. What does he mean ‘demote him to nothing more than a ranch hand?’” 

He squeezed his fingers around the bars when it seemed she was never going to offer her hands to hold. “I would help you. With the ranch.” 

“We pay men for that.” 

“Cersei, if the judge refuses the offer, he will sentence me to hang,” Jaime reminded her. He had already been living with her and the boys, and without his badge he would gladly send one or all of the help away and take over the duties himself. “I thought you would be relieved?” 

There was a long stretch of silence before she said, “Of course I am.” 

Jaime smiled. He knew she took pride in her brother the Sheriff but a title was far less important than his life. “How are the boys?” he asked. 

“Tommen misses you. Joffrey... he has been acting out.” 

Jaime looked down at his feet. It killed him to think of the children, still wounded by the loss of their father and now faced with losing their uncle. “Tell them... tell them...” 

“Lannister!” the deputy shouted. “Judge is ready for you.” 

* 

There were gasps from the crowd when the judge declared Jaime a free man as long as he peacefully surrendered his badge and lived out the remainder of his days working the Baratheon ranch. Targaryen’s son and daughter stood from their seats to make their objection known. 

Jaime bolted from where he sat, looking behind him for Cersei in time to see her fleeing the saloon. 

* 

The terms of Jaime’s agreement were set to ensure he’d be a law-abiding citizen and the people of Mistwood would rarely have to see his face. He would be hanged if he so much as shorted the general store a nickel. He was only to leave the ranch out of necessity - he was never to set foot in the Silverhill for a drink or a round of Faro and could never take Tommen and Joffrey to the general store for a new toy; those acts were frivolous and caused the town unnecessary discomfort. 

Viserys – the Marshall’s youngest son – made it his life’s work to destroy Jaime. He tried to set fire to the stables. He killed the boys’ dog. He relished every opportunity to taunt Jaime into committing a crime and tried to frame him for everything from petty theft to dishonoring the daughter of a preacher. 

He was nearly successful in framing Jaime for murder. 

* 

It was safe to make a trip into town with a list from Cersei of groceries and sundries, and that was how Jaime found himself away from the ranch for several hours on a Sunday afternoon. He encountered Sheriff Seaworth on his way out of the store and was surprised when the man asked, with genuine interest, “How are you faring?” 

Jaime told him about the dead dog and said, “I know it was Viserys. He’s been harassing me every chance he gets.” He told Davos about putting out a stable fire and seeing the culprit fleeing the scene, about a hole in the fence that led to several sheep escaping. Strange noises at night. A horse falling ill. The dog. 

“I’ll ride back with you,” Davos said. “Take a look.” 

The two men rode side by side, arriving at the ranch to find a horse and covered wagon parked alongside the corral. Jaime dismounted his stallion and carried the bag of purchases, stopping at the bottom of the porch stairs when the door opened and Viserys Targaryen emerged. Blood was spattered on the young man’s shirt and smeared across his cheek and caked under his nails. 

Davos drew his revolver and Jaime dropped the bag and its contents spilled, apples rolling across the dirt. He ran up the stairs to the porch and shoved Viserys out of the way. He entered the house and dropped to his knees screaming, crawling to where Cersei was stretched out on the floor. Her face was bloody and bruised and Jaime wouldn’t have believed it was her if not for the hair – beautiful, golden tresses cushioning her beaten head. He felt for a pulse and wept, crawling to where his nephews clung to one another in front of the hearth, a pool of blood spreading beneath their small bodies. 

* 

The bodies had been buried for months when Jaime went to the stables and found a blanket rolled out on the hay, a set of marbles spilled across the wool. He knew nothing had been there the day before, and for one pained, glorious moment Jaime thought the children had miraculously survived and come back to the ranch. 

Angered more by that false sense of hope than the notion of an intruder on the land, Jaime marched to the house to fetch a rifle. He returned to the stables and searched each horse’s stall. He kicked open the door of the last one and found a young man cowering in the corner. “Show yourself,” Jaime demanded. The young man lifted his head and Jaime squinted. “Podrick Payne?” 

**Part II.**

**Brienne - Winterfell**

People used to line up to see Brienne Tarth, a mere child, engage in shooting matches with grown men. Men who made their living as travelling marksmen. For the most part, the men she defeated took it in stride. A girl of her age and low means was not a threat – until a growth spurt in her twelfth year had Brienne standing taller than the average sharpshooter, and her height and broad build drew the curiosity of people willing to pay generously to see her hit every target. She gained notoriety and a nickname – The Beauty. It was said to mock her plain face, unruly hair, and preference for men’s trousers over dresses. 

The loss of her father to cholera was also the loss of her protector. Alone and vulnerable, men she had humiliated by besting them sought her out. They stole from Brienne, beat her, and would have forced themselves on her if she hadn’t always kept a revolver nearby. Little by little, her money was depleted and her safety in constant threat. 

Two months shy of her eighteenth birthday, the widow of Sheriff Stark hired Brienne to work their ranch, paying her in coin but mostly with a roof over her head and a place for her at the table. It was why, ten years later, she found herself sitting in a Winterfell jail cell for murder. 

* 

She was surrounded by brick and steel. The lone window was small and had bars crossways. There was a narrow cot, but Brienne sat on the hard, dusty floor. All her life she’d wanted to be on the other side – the first female Sheriff or the town Marshall – and use her skills to protect the townsfolk. 

Brienne heard a commotion outside and climbed to her feet, trying to see out the grimy window. She saw only mud and the wheels of a buggy, but soon the muffled voices became clear and she knew the Stark women had come to beg for her release. She stood in front of the vertical bars, hands behind her back, shoulders square and head held high. She needed them to think her strong. 

“You can’t keep us out,” she heard Sansa bellow, and then the girl was pushing past the deputy and picking up the hem of her dress to run to the cell. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m well,” Brienne answered. But she had forgotten to tuck one side of her shirt under the waistband of her trousers, and there was a smear of blood on her collar and the wound above her left eye had begun to bleed again. 

Catelyn appeared in the doorway and moved to stand beside her daughter. “Brienne,” she said, “we’re going to get you out of here.” 

“It’s wrong,” Sansa added. “You only shot Ramsay to save my life. He was going to... He was going to...” 

Brienne walked to the bars, curling her fingers around them. “You and I know that, Sansa, but they don’t,” she said softly, nodding to where the deputy stood with a hand on his holstered gun. “And he was the sheriff's son. Tonight, they transfer me. Tomorrow...” She could not finish the thought seeing Sansa’s eyes well with tears. The fingerprint shaped bruises Ramsay Bolton left on the girl’s pale neck had become a sallow yellow, and Brienne was glad to see the cut on her lip was not deep enough to leave a scar. 

“We will not stand for this,” Catelyn told her, covering Brienne’s hands with her own. 

* 

The only light was from a candle on the deputy’s desk and thin shards of moonlight cast into the cell. Brienne was being readied for transfer when she heard the pop of gunfire and ducked low to the ground. She heard her name and saw the shape of a man – his face covered to his eyes and a hat obscuring his hair – approaching the cell with the deputy’s keys. He turned a key in the lock and briefly lowered the kerchief shielding his identity. She saw it was Robb, the oldest Stark boy. 

“Hurry! Now!” he whispered with urgency, reaching for Brienne’s hand and yanking her forward when it seemed her feet had stopped working. 

She followed close behind him and understood what was happening as they exited the jail. Robb and his brother Jon, along with Theon – the other orphan taken in by the family – had staged a robbery of the general store across the way. They created a diversion, overpowered the deputy, and had a horse ready for her escape. 

“Here,” Jon said, handing Brienne a holster. She quickly fastened it around her waist. He and Theon each handed her a weapon. “Go, now,” he told her. 

Brienne stared at them, precious seconds ticking by. She lunged forward and wrapped her long arms briefly around as much of the three of them as she could before mounting the horse. “Thank you. Please tell the same to your mother and Sansa.” She grabbed the reins, leaned forward, and nudged the horse with her leg, riding off into the dark.


	2. Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Are you a_ woman _?” Jaime asked, but he already knew the answer. He’d already felt the truth._
> 
> _“H-help,” she said, lifting a hand to clutch her wound._

**I.**

**Mistwood - 1875**

Nothing displeased Jaime Lannister more than a ride into town. He only left the ranch when necessary and ever since he had taken in the Payne boy, that seemed to be twice as often as before. 

The whole of Mistwood was unaware Jaime had given Podrick a bed and food to eat and work to make him useful. As far as they knew, the boy had left after the death of his parents to stay with an aunt up north, but in truth he’d begged Jaime to help him. Said the aunt’s husband was a scoundrel and he didn’t expect to survive the winter living with them. The kid was between hay and grass – of an age to work, but not nearly a grown man. He was an orphan and Jaime thought himself an orphan, too. 

His horse slowed to a trot as the vacant land and dirt roads neared the more heavily populated town. Jaime calculated it only took a record seven seconds to receive his first glower, from the barber standing outside his shop. Jaime knew if he came seeking a haircut the barber would insist he didn’t truly need one and was violating the terms of his parole. 

The people of Mistwood used to celebrate Jaime Lannister and now they reviled him. He was no longer the Sheriff, only the murderer of Aerys Targaryen. His bad behavior, they believed, led to the deaths of a woman and two innocent children. It was not unusual for a man to see Jaime in town and throw wild accusations at him or lure him to a game of Faro with the hopes of taking home a pretty penny. As if he could forget it meant he’d hang. 

People hated doing business with him, but he was good at training horses. Podrick felt protected, and Jaime too, because everyone refused to meet him on the ranch. He always had to go to them. But he’d lost most of the sheep – historically the largest source of income – to sickness. There was less and less work to be done, and less and less money coming in. 

* 

Brienne couldn’t be certain how long she had been on the run. 

Long enough to hack the length of her hair with a sharp blade. Long enough to sell the horse she rode off on to have enough coin to purchase a man’s Stetson and to pay for sustenance. She rode the rails like a hobo, hopping on and off the caboose. In Fleabottom, she considered challenging a gunslinger to a shooting match and betting on herself as the winner until she convinced herself it was too much of a risk. 

She jumped off the back of a train as it wound its way into a new town. Brienne walked, bag slung over her shoulder, along the tracks to the station. She wore the hat and a man’s trousers, collared shirt, suspenders, and a sable-brushed cotton frock coat. It didn’t offend her to dress as a man; it was her preference. It was difficult to find dresses her size, even in adolescence, and when she lived with the Starks she was always running around with the boys. 

Brienne searched for a sign or anything to tell her where she was. Finding none, she spotted a boy looking bored, waiting for his parents to finish an argument. She approached him and asked, “Can you tell me what town we’re in?” 

The boy perked up at the question. “Yes, sir. We’re in Mistwood.” 

She thanked him with a tip of her hat and kept walking. Mistwood was far, but likely not far enough for no one to have heard of Brienne Tarth – the once prodigious sharpshooter, or the wanted murderer. Not far enough for Sheriff Roose Bolton not to hunt her down. 

Night was closing in on Mistwood; wisps of clouds and heavy blue slowly swallowed up the sun. Brienne kept walking, hoping soon she would find a horse on its own or one not properly contained by its owner. 

* 

Applejack was Jaime’s favorite stallion because he had been Tommen’s favorite. His nephew had named him, cared for him, and to the chagrin of the other horses, Jaime made no effort to hide his preference. 

He steered Applejack to the corral and dismounted. He dug an apple out of his rucksack and fed it to the horse before crossing the muddy ground to the house. 

“I’m hungry ‘nough to eat a saddle blanket!” Podrick declared as Jaime entered through the door. 

“Is that your way of thanking me?” Jaime asked. 

Podrick pursed his lips, looking down at his feet in shame. “Thank you, sir,” he said as he fixed a smile on his face, looking up. 

Jaime winked and dumped the contents of the bag on the table – another few apples, a can of coffee, a loaf of bread, potatoes, cans of beans, and other sundries. 

“No eggs?” Podrick asked. 

Jaime glared at him, the look reminding the boy some things had to be foregone. “Should be salted pork left in the cellar.” 

The boy ran off to fetch it while Jaime took a seat. He often hassled Podrick, but the truth was the kid saved Jaime’s life and the risk of lodging him on the ranch was worthwhile. Many nights, the once-Sheriff Lannister had considered swallowing the barrel of his gun. He had no family and his only job was a constant reminder of the loss of that family. The horses had been his only reason for living, knowing how his nephews loved them so. Podrick made Jaime laugh and seemed to need him. Mostly, he liked having the kid in the house. It had been too quiet after Cersei and her sons were gone. 

Those were his best years, Jaime thought, when the four of them lived under one roof. He knew she was his sister and it was wrong, but he often thought of himself as the husband and Joffrey and Tommen _their_ sons. He’d left Casterly Rock to help when Robert passed and even though plenty of women would have married him then, he never struck out on his own. Not once Cersei convinced him there was nothing and nobody else out there; not after she said she’d die if he left them. _And look what happened._

Jaime shook himself out of his thoughts and got up to light the stove. He poured whiskey, sipping while he waited. He checked the temperature and added more coal as Podrick bounded back into the room with the pork. “Thank you, Pod. We’ll have ourselves a fine meal.” 

* 

The front of her shirt was damp. Brienne had stopped to drink from the river. So far, she found Mistwood to be a piss-poor town. She had not been able to locate a horse she could take without violence toward the owner. 

Her feet ached inside her boots and she considered dropping onto the tall, soft grass surrounding the road, sleeping with the rucksack under her head. But even though the sky was black as ink, Brienne thought she could see the outline of a windmill in the distance. 

It was enough to give her a surge of energy and she began to run, kicking up dust beneath her boots. She soon skidded to a stop as she came upon a ranch. Even in the dark she could see the buildings were dilapidated. There was no sign of activity at the house and not only was there a stable full of horses, but one in the corral. 

Brienne mouthed a silent _thank you_ to the gods and hopped the wooden fence. She approached the horse, finding him to be agreeable to her presence, and let him sniff her hand. 

* 

Jaime had dozed for a reasonable amount of time after dinner. He woke feeling cold, the cotton of his union suit not holding up to the drop in temperature. He decided another whiskey would do the trick and his bare feet padded from the bed to the kitchen. 

Something caught his eye out the window and Jaime realized he’d left Applejack in the corral. He would be fine there, of course, but Jaime never minded an excuse to attend to the stallion. 

He downed the remainder of the liquid in his cup and leaned closer to the window. It was then Jaime realized a man was in the corral, and it wasn’t Podrick; he could hear the boy snoring from his room upstairs and the intruder was far too tall. Cursing under his breath, Jaime grabbed his rifle and exited out the back, able to approach the corral without being seen or heard on the porch. 

“Stop right there,” he commanded, shouldering the rifle. He had no intention of shooting – which would only cause trouble for himself – only scaring the thief off. 

The intruder froze but did not show his hands. 

“Put your hands up. Now.” 

The man rotated slowly. Jaime saw the thief's hand sliding under the lapels of his coat, no doubt reaching toward a holstered gun. Jaime’s finger trembled against the trigger and he only had a second to decide – shoot or be shot. Not long ago he would’ve held his arms out, pushed his chest forward and asked to be put out of his misery. But there was a boy depending on him. 

Jaime had always been an expert marksman and could aim to kill or disable, whichever a situation called for. He fired once, grazing the man’s ribcage and knocking him to the ground, a cloud of dust erupting under his large body. 

Still aiming, Jaime approached the corral. The fallen man’s Stetson had been knocked a few feet away and Jaime saw the shock of white-blonde hair it had been hiding. He kicked the man’s leg and heard a whine. 

Jaime lowered his rifle and bent to open the man’s coat, checking for weapons and finding two. He removed the guns and slid them out of reach. He leaned further down to check the wound. He imagined two scenarios – shooting to kill and burying a body or hoping the man would leave with a minor flesh wound and never speak a word of the incident. Jaime reached to feel for a pulse, his arm pressed against the man’s chest, and he felt something curious. Something soft. He stood suddenly, reeling backward. 

The intruder’s eyes fluttered open, looking up at Jaime. Full, chapped lips parted to release a rasp of breath. 

“Are you a _woman_?” Jaime asked, but he already knew the answer. He’d already felt the truth. 

“H-help,” she said, lifting a hand to clutch her wound. 

Jaime felt faint himself, sick at the thought of shooting a female – criminal or not – and the wrath he would face for committing such an act. He couldn’t take her into the house and spill blood there or alert Podrick. He couldn’t hoist her into the wagon and take her to town. Jaime knelt, sliding his arm behind her back and gripping the waistband of her trousers. He grunted as he stood and heaved her up. 

The woman’s feet dragged, drawing curvy lines in the dirt, as Jaime took her to the barn. He lowered her to the ground, leaning her against a stack of hay. He found a saddle blanket and spread it down, maneuvering her until she was reclined on it. He stood above her, shaking, in a panic. Jaime knew what to do but it took her hand latching onto his ankle, squeezing, for him to think straight. 

He left and returned with supplies and a lantern. He knelt beside her, first removing her left arm from the sleeve of the coat, giving him better access to the wound. He removed her holster, tossing it aside. Jaime unclipped the suspenders and when his hand went to the waistband of her pants, the woman attempted to scoot away from him. She winced and collapsed against the ground and Jaime said, “Why don’t you do it then.” 

She yanked the hem of the shirt out from under the waistband of her trousers only after Jaime looked the other way. Her hand shook as she folded the shirt, and the second layer of soft cotton underneath, up to just under her breasts. She lifted her head to look at where the bullet had struck and grunted in pain and alarm. 

Jaime looked at her and said, “It’s not that bad.” 

“You... tried... kill...” 

“You won’t die,” he said. “I knew what I was doing when I pulled the trigger and it wasn’t committing murder.” 

He used the rest of his whiskey to both sterilize tools and alleviate her pain some. His right arm under the back of her head, he lifted her and held the tip of the bottle to her lips. “What’s your name?” Jaime asked. 

“Brienne,” she said, swallowing the last few letters, realizing the mistake of revealing her real name. 

“Brienne?” 

She nodded. It was too late. 

Jaime talked to her as he worked. “Miss Brienne, I’m Jaime. This was my sister’s place. And that horse belonged to her son.” She writhed and hissed as he cleaned the wound and bandaged it. He had experience with such things and knew he hadn’t done serious damage. The worst possibility for her was infection. “You’ll be fine,” he said. “Fine enough to tell me why you tried stealing my horse while masquerading as a man. Although it wasn’t much of a stretch for you, it seems.” 

Brienne squeezed her eyes shut, grinding her teeth and breathing hard through her nose. Beads of sweat shined on her face. “Horse,” she said. “I needed a horse.” 

He got to his feet and found another blanket, covering her. “Well, you can’t have mine,” Jaime said as he knelt beside her again. 

“Are you going to the law?” she choked out the question. 

“I was the law once.” 

She tilted her head to see his face. If she had known the ranch belonged to a former lawman, Brienne would have kept walking. But that was her luck lately. 

“I don’t think you’ll be well enough to get up for a while, but I’m going to sit here just in case you try to get away. While I think of what to do with you.” 

Brienne held herself very still. She trembled under the blanket, in part due to pain and in part due to the strange man hovering above her, his tone a threat. “I don’t want any trouble,” she said, each word strained. 

“If that were true you wouldn’t have tried to steal my horse.” Jaime settled down, resting his back against the haystack. He wanted her to feel scolded, to feel scared. He needed to keep her from running off and telling the wrong people what had happened. But most of all he worried over the harm he’d done and how well, or not well, he’d tended to her injury. It didn’t feel right to leave her there even if she would never make it far outside the barn. 

* 

He woke with a start, tipped over on the ground, a piece of straw stuck to his lips. Jaime had not meant to fall asleep but when he sat upright, his prisoner was exactly where she had been. In fact, she was so still that he had to crawl closer and hold his hand near her face to make sure she was breathing. 

The sun poked in through the slats in the ceiling and he got his first good look at her. It was no wonder he mistook her for a man in the dark. She was tall and broad, and from what he’d surmised, she was the opposite of buxom. He’d noticed her narrow hips and her hair shorn short, probably by her own hand from the looks of it. Jaime thought her face was not as masculine as the rest of her seemed, but rather plain. The word _unremarkable_ came to mind, but then her eyes fluttered open and he knew that was terribly wrong. She had eyes he could liken to the bluest sky, or a body of water he’d yet to discover in the world – a place that sparkled liked sapphires. 

“Don't touch me,” she said, her voice an angry rasp of breath. 

Jaime winced, averting his eyes too quickly, too obviously. “I wasn’t... You don’t need to worry about that. I’m not interested.” He rolled his eyes to emphasize the point. “How do you feel?” 

“Sore.” 

He looked at her again and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. She squirmed under his touch. “Warm but not fevered,” was his assessment. 

“You were law and now you’re a physician?” she asked. 

“No, but I know my way around a bullet hole.” He yanked the collar of his union suit down toward his shoulder, revealing two round, jagged scars on his chest. When he saw blush crawl from Brienne’s neck to her cheeks, he knew it had been indecent of him, and he was suddenly aware of being in, essentially, his underdrawers. 

They both heard the slap of a door closing and Brienne tried to sit up, grimacing at the pain and falling back to the ground. 

“Hello?” 

It was Podrick calling out. Jaime whispered to Brienne, “I’ll be right back.” 

She listened as he addressed the boy, who sounded to be older than Bran but younger than Jon, making an excuse about suddenly worrying they were low on feed. She peeled the blanket away from her body. Her hand found the bandage on her side and she gingerly touched the cloth, remembering how the man – Jaime? – had tended to her. She braced her hands on the ground and lifted her back, biting her lip to keep from grunting as she worked to scoot herself into an upright position, leaning against the wall. 

When Jaime returned, having picked up her guns and rucksack from the corral, he found her sweating and panting, her legs spread out in front of her. He could see fresh blood seeping through her shirt, dampening what had already dried to brown on the white fabric. “Damnit.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“No, you’re not.” He still had the supplies there and he got down next to her. The button-down shirt was in the way no matter what, and Jaime said, “I apologize, Miss Brienne,” before tearing the shirt down the front, popping the buttons. He removed her arm from its sleeve. The undershirt she wore was saturated in old and new blood and Jaime rolled the cotton up. 

Brienne watched his face while he peeled the bandage away. She had not taken a good look at him before. He was aesthetically pleasing – a strong nose, sharp cheekbones and a neatly trimmed beard – but he had sad eyes. “You have a son?” she asked in between deep breaths. 

He looked at her, startled by the question for a moment. “Oh, no. That was Podrick. I guess you could say he’s my... foster.” 

She thought of Catelyn Stark. “Then you have a son.” 

Jaime stopped what he was doing, his eyes locked with hers. He was mesmerized by her eyes and what’d she’d said until her face screwed up in pain. 

“What were you?” she asked. “Deputy?” 

Jaime briefly looked up from his work. “Sheriff.” 

Brienne felt more at ease knowing that, though she had to wonder why he was not the Sheriff any longer. 

When she was re-bandaged, Jaime stood up and looked down, assessing his work. “You need clean clothes. I still have some of my sister’s things.” 

She eyed him from his toes up to his head. “Something of yours will do.” 

“Are you sure you’re a woman?” he asked, immediately not proud of his sneering tone. 

* 

Jaime sent Podrick to the cellar so he could take clean clothes, food, and water to Brienne. He went to extremes keeping the boy from the barn all day, sending him on errands elsewhere on the ranch any time he needed to check in on her. When Jaime found him napping on the porch after lunch, he used the opportunity to take her a bowl of beans. 

“How is the patient?” he asked. 

“Patient? I thought I was your prisoner.” 

He wasn’t sure when he’d started thinking of her that way, but it had been his predominant thought – her care more so than any threat she posed. Any punishment she deserved. She was a large, imposing woman, but Brienne didn’t strike him as dangerous. She seemed familiar. “Now that you mention it,” Jaime said, sitting beside her, “we should return to the topic of why you were stealing Applejack.” 

“Applejack?” 

He smiled. “My nephew named him.” He moved on, saying, “I may not be the law any longer but I am close friends with the current Sheriff of Mistwood.” It was a lie, although Davos Seaworth was kinder to Jaime than most. 

“What is your surname?” she asked. 

“Lannister.” 

Brienne’s face registered recognition and shock. “Jaime _Lannister_ ,” she said, leaning back, trying to put as much distance between them as she could manage. “You killed the Marshall.” 

He winced and shook his head. “That matter is said and done. We’re talking about _your_ crimes.” 

“The only man _I_ ever killed was trying to hurt an innocent,” Brienne said in her defense. 

Jaime saw no point in telling her the same could be said of him. 

“All my life I thought men of the law were noble and good. You’re not the first I’ve known of to bring shame to the job.” 

“If you tell me why you were going to steal my horse and I think it was a good reason, I will let you go. If not, I will at least put in a good word for you. Either way it’s better than a noose.” She didn’t need to know he was at more risk of hanging than she would ever be. 

Brienne finished chewing a bite of beans. She set the bowl down and fidgeted with her hands on her lap. “What would a man like you consider a good reason?” 

“Try me.” 

“A man tried to rape a young woman, a sister to me, so I shot him dead.” 

Jaime’s lips parted as though he had something to say, but his tongue could not form any words. 

“He was the son of the Sheriff of Winterfell. I was to be hanged. The family who – my family – sacrificed their freedom to set me free. I had to sell the horse for money and because I needed the rails to get further faster. I’d been wandering, looking for a horse, and found yours. _Unattended_.” Brienne looked sideways at him. “Is that a good reason?” 

Jaime heard the emotion in her voice and saw the shine of tears in her blue eyes. He thought of his family, all gone, and the lengths he wished he could have gone to save them. He stood, brushing hay from his trousers, and said, “You can’t have Applejack. But when you’re healed, I have a mare who does well on long rides.” 

His boots crunched across the hay and dry mud as he exited the barn, and Brienne released a long, calming breath. 

* 

Jaime ate at the kitchen table but turned every few bites to look at the window at the barn. He’d stacked empty tin cans in front of the door. He’d hear the racket if Brienne tried to leave. The question of what to do with her gnawed at him. If she was on the run, it seemed unlikely she would run off and tell anyone Jaime Lannister shot her. But truth and honor seemed to be of the utmost importance to her. 

“Sir?” Podrick asked. 

Jaime looked across the table. “Yes?” 

“What are you thinking on? You look worried.” 

Jaime told the boy he was thinking about the work he needed to do with the horses. Podrick turned his attention back to his plate and Jaime turned his back to Brienne. 

Her name was not common. Jaime knew too many women named Mary to count on his fingers. He knew more than one Alice, Elizabeth, and Martha. Even Minnie he had heard more than once. Brienne was quite a unique name, but it sounded familiar. 

As Podrick slurped his soup, a memory sprang to Jaime’s mind so suddenly that he stood from his seat, the chair wobbling in his wake. 

“What happened?” Podrick asked. 

“I figured it out.” 

“Figured what out?” 

Jaime waved his question away and said, “I need to take care of something. Will you please stay here and finish cooking the potatoes?” 

The boy nodded and Jaime bolted for the door. He knew why the name had been bothering him. She was Brienne Tarth. The Beauty. The girl his father took him, Cersei, and Tyrion to see – the summer before Tyrion died – best a grown, professional gunslinger at a shooting match. “I figured it out,” he sang, walking to the barn and kicking the tin cans out of the way. His smile drooped when he found Brienne on the floor, curled into the fetal position, trembling. She was pale, her hair was wet, and beads of sweat glistened on her skin and soaked through her shirt. “Oh, no.” 

He dropped to his knees and touched her cheek, singed by the heat he felt there. She needed a physician, not someone who happened to be familiar with bullet wounds. 

Behind him, the door rattled open and Podrick stepped inside. 

Jaime reached out, urging the boy to come closer. He pointed to the ground until Podrick knelt on the other side of Brienne. “Listen, son,” he said, “this woman needs our help. She’s very sick. Someone bad... a scoundrel is after her. It’s our job to keep her safe so absolutely no one can know she is here.” 

“Like me,” Podrick said. 

Jaime nodded. “Right. Like you. I need to get a doctor. Can I trust you to stay with her? To keep her safe?” 

“Yes,” the boy answered eagerly, gravely, and when Jaime was halfway out of the barn he called out, “What’s her name?” 

“Brienne.”


	3. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Brienne, Jaime, and Podrick get used to one another's company on the ranch, a threat to their safety results in Jaime making a difficult decision.

Luckily for Brienne, Jaime’s nearest neighbor was a physician. The difficult part would be convincing Samwell Tarly to ride back to the ranch – to the home of the town pariah. 

The modest Tarly home sat on a good plot of land with a clear view of the snow-capped mountains in the distance. Jaime hitched Applejack and the noise alerted the inside of the house to his presence. 

The door squeaked open an inch and Tarly’s wife peered out at him. 

“Ms. Gilly,” Jaime said, removing his hat. 

Behind her, the door opened wider and Samwell appeared. “Lannister?” 

“May I have a word?” Jaime asked. 

Husband and wife shared a glance, a few whispered words, and then Samwell was on the porch. He waved Jaime up and offered him a seat on one of the two chairs there. 

Jaime declined with a shake of his head. “I have a favor to ask. You swore an oath to heal people and keep their matters private. Is that right?” 

“Yes?” Samwell answered cautiously. 

“I need a doctor at the ranch.” 

Samwell told him, “I suppose I could find time tomorrow ar-” 

“It has to be now,” Jaime said. “And you cannot tell a soul what you see there.” 

“I don’t want any trouble, Mr. Lannister,” he said, backing up toward the door. 

“You swore an oath to heal people. All people. Someone who deserves to live needs a doctor. If you won’t help, this person will die. Please don’t let your feelings about me lead to her death.” 

Samwell’s eyes darted about, as if he could find the answer to his dilemma on the roof of the porch or carved into the railing. “I will get my bag,” he said. 

* 

Jaime entered the barn first, finding a stricken Podrick kneeling beside Brienne. It appeared the boy had never taken his eyes off her and Jaime said, “Thank you, Pod. I need you to go back into the house now.” 

The boy stood and gaped at Samwell as he appeared in the doorway. “Sir?” He looked at Jaime, confused and alarmed. 

“It’s alright, son. Doc Tarly is sworn to keep secrets.” 

Satisfied with that, Podrick took off toward the house. 

Samwell closed the barn door and looked down at the woman. The pallor of her skin was worrisome and her body spasmed with fever. “What happened?” 

“I shot her,” Jaime said, trusting Samwell’s oath would prevent him from sharing that information with anyone. The doctor’s eyes widened and he held his medical bag defensively against the front of his body. “She tried to steal from me. I thought she was a man. It’s a long story and doesn’t much matter now. Can you help her?” 

Samwell got down on the ground and inspected the wound. He said a lot of words Jaime didn’t know and removed items from his bag – a glass bottle, a jar, and a hypodermic needle. He explained what he was doing, using iodine and bromine to clear the infection and control the fever. He re-bandaged her and handed Jaime a jar, instructing him to use the salve every time he cleaned the wound. 

“Do you need more gauze?” Samwell asked. 

Jaime nodded and lined the items up on the blanket beside Brienne. Already she looked less gray. He followed the doctor out of the barn and to his buggy. “Thank you, Tarly.” 

Samwell glanced back at the house. He was suspicious of the entire situation, that was clear, but Jaime believed him when he said, “I won’t speak a word of this. Any of it.” 

The wheels of the buggy squeaked as the horse took up a trot. Jaime dashed back into the barn. He looked down at Brienne and prayed he could trust Doc Tarly. The whole town, and beyond, was waiting for Jaime Lannister to make a mistake. He thought how much safer he would be if he’d let her die and gotten rid of the body when Brienne slowly tilted her head to look at him, and seeing her awake and alive pulsed a wave of relief through his body. 

“Who was that?” she asked. 

“I didn’t think you were awake for any of it.” 

“In and out.” 

Jaime sat beside her. “Don’t worry. He’s a physician. He can be trusted.” 

She was still too sick and too tired to argue with him about the doctor’s merits. Instead Brienne asked, “Why are you helping me? Why not let me die and be free of this mess?” 

“You did something good and you shouldn't have to pay for it.” _And I can’t let you leave until I trust you won’t spill a word of this to anyone._

Brienne’s chin quivered thinking of Sansa and the Starks, thinking of the life she had to leave behind to avoid execution. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, across her nose. She turned her head the other way to hide her emotion from him. 

“I admire what you did,” Jaime told her. “You took a life to save a life. It’s a terrible predicament but I’m sure you did the right thing.” 

* 

Birdsong and faint beams of light crisscrossing the interior of the barn announced the morning. Brienne feared moving, but when she finally did, the pain was less abrasive than it had been. She managed to get herself into a seated position and realized Jaime had dressed her in a warm coat. She opened it to peel her shirt up and look at her ribcage, pleased to see only a small spot of blood on the bandage. 

There was a ruckus on the other side of the wall and she quickly closed the coat around her chest. The door squeaked open and she saw the nose and curious eyes of a young man peer around the side. “You may enter,” she told him. 

Podrick nudged the door the rest of the way open with his hip. His hands were full, one carrying a glass of milk and the other a chunk of bread folded in a cloth napkin. “Jaime said he can make something more if you like. We don’t have eggs though.” 

Brienne smiled and accepted the items from him. “Thank you. This is fine.” She took a drink of the milk and said, “I don’t believe we’ve met.” 

“We met last night, ma’am. But you were asleep.” 

She smiled. “I’m Brienne. What’s your name?” 

“Podrick. Podrick Payne.” 

She reached her arm up toward him despite the sting she felt on her side. “It’s nice to meet you, Podrick Payne,” she said, shaking his hand. “Thank you for helping me.” 

“Jaime says no one is to know you are here. No one is to know I’m here either.” He was proud of the shared secret. 

Brienne, having been parched, gulped the milk in an unladylike fashion and dragged the back of her hand across her lips. 

“There’s more if you like, Miss Brienne?” 

She nodded and the boy ran off, returning a moment later with more milk and something in his other hand. She saw that it was an apple and he sat in front of her, tossing it up in the air and catching it. Brienne knew if Catelyn had been there, she would ask the boy if he intended to eat the fruit or treat it as a toy, but she rather liked the sound of the apple landing heavy on his palm. It was soothing. 

The two of them chatted, Podrick detailing his chores around the ranch and the best places to hide if need be. “Neither of you have referred to the ranch by name. Does it have one? Most do,” Brienne said. 

The boy shook his head. “It did, before, but I don’t remember it. When I ask Jaime, he says he can’t afford a name.” 

She laughed quietly. Her father used to say such things. She didn’t have a middle name because they could not afford one. It did make her wonder, though, if Jaime struggled to earn a living. The night she had first arrived, she thought the ranch seemed rather sparse. Only a few sheep milling about the pen. Repairs needed to the structures. 

Brienne still had half the bread left and she folded the napkin around it, setting it aside. Saving it. Stretching it out. 

* 

“You refused lunch and now you don’t want dinner? Are you sure you feel better?” Jaime asked, reaching out to press a hand to her cheek. 

Brienne ducked, avoiding the contact. “Yes, I feel much better despite being _shot_.” 

“You reached for your gun,” he reminded her. 

“I was only trying to take _one_ of your horses.” 

“A horse that means a great deal to me.” 

Brienne rolled her eyes, putting an end to the argument. Her fever had broken shortly after Samwell Tarly’s departure. The salve he left not only lessened her pain but seemed to be helping the wound heal at a fairly quick pace. “I reckon I don’t have my appetite back yet,” she lied, not wanting to tell Jaime she feared he didn’t have enough money to feed three mouths and she was trying to ration her portions. 

Podrick appeared then, announcing he’d set the table. 

“At least come in the house and sit with us,” Jaime suggested, knowing she only left the barn to use the outhouse. 

“Nobody ever comes here,” Podrick insisted. 

“Uninvited,” Jaime added. 

Brienne looked from one to the other, the boy’s face hopeful. It tickled her to be sought-after company. “Alright,” she conceded. “If you say it is safe.” 

“It is!” Podrick declared. 

She followed them to the house, seeing it up close for the first time. She grabbed the hitching rail to climb the stairs, noting it was loose. “Could use some tightening,” she said 

Inside, Brienne was drawn immediately to the hearth, only then aware of how cold she had been in the barn. She bent down, listening to the crackle, letting the flames warm her hands and face. She looked to the side at the narrow set of stairs leading to the second story. From the size of the house, Brienne gathered she would only fit up there if she crouched down. She could tell it was where Podrick stayed; the door to the only other room on the main level was open and she could see a bed, large enough for two, and a man’s shirt draped over the foot of the bed. Jaime’s shirt. Jaime’s room. 

“Would you like a drink?” Jaime asked. “Cider brandy.” 

She said yes without much thought. It was unusual for Brienne to drink, but she was nervous, and thought it might dull what pain lingered from her injury. 

The two of them stood waiting for her at the table, only taking their seats when she had taken hers. Podrick had set a plate for her, and when he offered a cob of corn Brienne accepted it with a smile. In truth she was famished. 

Throughout the meal, Jaime caught himself staring at her. He also felt a slight ache in his cheeks and realized it had been quite some time since he smiled so much. 

Podrick opened up about his aunt and her husband, telling them, “He was mean enough to steal a coin off a dead man’s eyes.” 

Brienne surprised herself by accepting an offer of more brandy, but when Jaime stood to fetch the bottle something outside the window caught his eye. “Shit.” 

“What’s wrong?” she asked. 

“Go upstairs. The both of you.” 

She sensed the urgency in his voice. Wasting no time, Brienne and Podrick hurried to the stairs. She had been correct; she had to stoop to get around the second floor, eventually sitting on the ground, far from the windows. The boy was next to her, breathing hard. They both strained to hear the conversation happening below them and suddenly Podrick told her in an excited whisper, “That’s Petyr Baelish!” 

“Who is he?” 

“He runs the saloon, Miss Brienne,” Podrick said. 

_Whores_ , she thought. 

The boy put his ear to the floor and Brienne shrugged, doing the same. It was impossible to catch every word spoken, but the tone of the conversation did not escape her. The saloon owner was overly polite, making everything he said come across as more of a threat. Jaime’s voice was level, submissive. She gathered they had made a business arrangement and Jaime had not come through. Without laying eyes on Baelish, she knew he was a weasel. 

“He’s gone,” Jaime called up several minutes later. 

Brienne descended the stairs, clutching her side, and said, “Podrick says he is tired. I’m rather tuckered out myself.” 

“Please, stay.” 

She stopped halfway to the door. 

“I mean,” Jaime amended, “in the house. You don’t need to sleep in the barn.” 

“What if that man comes back later?” 

“He won’t.” 

“You said no one ever comes here and that turned out to be a lie, Mr. Lannister." 

Jaime looked pointedly at where she held a hand to her ribcage. “I reckon you’d heal faster sleeping on a bed.” 

“I reckon I’d heal faster if you stopped arguing with me.” 

“Arguing? I’m trying to-” 

Brienne talked over him, saying, “I appreciate the offer but I’m fine in in the barn. I should have never left it in the first place.” 

* 

The boy was still asleep when Jaime woke, dressed, and went to the barn. One slat of wood had been punctured by bullets years earlier and never repaired. It was a small open space, and someone unfamiliar with the barn would likely not notice it. Jaime didn’t intentionally look there; his eyes were drawn to the spot because it reminded him of how Cersei harped on him to fix it. He saw movement through the hole and couldn’t look away. 

Brienne was standing, her back to him. She wore no shirt and must have had her trousers unbuttoned; they drooped open in the back. The cloth she’d kept wrapped tight around her chest was gone. She was peeling the bandage away and Jaime was surprised by how smooth her skin appeared to be. Her back was vast – long, muscled – and an image flashed through his mind of kissing his way from between her sharp shoulder blades down along the indentation of her spine, to the soft patch of skin above the curve of her ass. 

He twitched with arousal and berated himself for such a reaction. To her, especially. A woman he first thought to be a man, of all people! 

Jaime collected himself and tapped his knuckles on the door, saying, “If you’re awake I have coffee inside.” 

“No, thank you,” she called back. 

He lingered a moment, wondering if she would turn around. When it seemed she might, he felt shameful and turned away quickly. “I’m not coming back out here with food,” Jaime told her. “If you want anything you’ll have to come inside and get it.” He returned to the house and had coffee waiting on the table when she eventually, sheepishly, darkened the doorway. 

They ate buttered bread and pork and she asked after Podrick. “He would sleep all day if I didn’t wake him,” Jaime told her, and he had no intention of waking him just yet. He rather liked the two of them sitting at the table speaking in hushed tones while the boy slept. It felt cozy. It made the house feel like a home again. 

“I realized something,” he said. 

“What’s that?” 

“I saw you once. When we were both children. Brienne the Beauty.” She shuddered at the use of the nickname and it didn’t go unnoticed. Jaime cleared his throat. “My brother and I were impressed. You had better aim than any adult man we’d ever known.” 

Brienne smiled, offered a nod of thanks for the compliment. “And your sister?” 

He paused, glancing away for a moment. “She didn’t think girls should know how to use a gun.” 

Brienne would not insult the dead but knew if the sister were alive, the two of them would not get along. She changed the subject and asked about the ranch and the horses, and when Jaime sounded forlorn about the prospect of having them all trained for sale by the date he promised, she told him, “I always did know my way with horses.” 

“Pod isn’t much help there,” Jaime whispered, first glancing over his shoulder toward the stairs. “I can always use more hands on the ranch. It’s not my chosen profession.” 

Brienne started to speak but stopped herself, instead taking another sip of coffee. 

“What were you going to say?” Jaime wondered. 

“How did you end up here? How did you not... hang for what you did?” 

“You're just like the townsfolk,” he said. “Think you know what happened without seeing it with your own eyes.” 

Brienne set her mug down. “Alright. Tell me what happened then.” 

“The townsfolk will tell you I was greedy. The truth doesn’t matter much to them.” 

“It matters to me.” 

Jaime lifted his gaze and was surprised by what he saw. Brienne’s eyes radiated kindness. “Do you want the long or short of it?” 

“Where have I got to be?” Brienne asked, leaning back in her chair, stretching her legs out and crossing her ankles. 

Jaime grinned and scooted his chair closer to the table and closer to her. He told her about his glory days as Sheriff Lannister, and how it all came crashing down when he came to see what a madman the Marshall was. He described their confrontation, saying, “He thought I was devoted to him. He thought I would look the other way while he turned this town and its people to ash under our feet. He forgot I made a promise to protect those very people. Not many folks understand the value of a vow like that.” 

“It’s sacred,” she said, like she did understand. 

Jaime tilted his head, questioning, wanting to know more. What kind of vows had she made? 

“After my father died, a wonderful woman welcomed me into her home. She already had a gaggle of children and I swore to help her. To protect the children as if they were my blood. It’s why I killed that man.” 

Jaime nodded. He sucked in a ragged breath, ready to finish his story. He detailed the Targaryen revenge that cost the lives of his family. 

Her eyes shined with tears as she listened to Jaime describe the gruesome discovery of his dead sister and nephews. She had to tuck her bottom lip under her teeth when she felt her chin quiver. When he finished his story and she had chased away the urge to cry, Brienne said, “How awful. How did you escape hanging for that?” 

“I suppose surrendering my badge to work the ranch seemed punishment enough to the judge,” Jaime explained. “I agreed to certain terms as well. I can’t leave Mistwood unless I’m able to sell the ranch, for one. I can’t...” He paused, deciding not to mention the risk he took not only shooting her but letting her convalesce on the ranch. “Well, they made this my prison. And when the Marshall’s son disagreed with the sentence, he saw to it I was punished in the worst way possible. I would’ve rather swung in the town square.” 

Brienne flinched at that. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t.” She looked at his hand resting flat on the table and nearly covered it with her own warm palm, instead curling her finger into a tight fist. 

Jaime stared at her, disappointed when she drew back and stood from the table. 

* 

She was already in the barn when she heard the gallop of horse hooves and the rattle of wheels. Brienne hid between bales of hay until she recognized the soft, kind voice of the man who treated her wound. She was standing again, brushing straw from her trousers when Jaime knocked and entered with the physician. 

“Miss Brienne, this is Doc Tarly. Not sure you remember him?” 

“I do,” she said, stepping toward the man with her hand outstretched. When he did the same, shaking her hand, she told him, “Thank you for coming out here. I can’t tell you how much better I felt the next day.” 

Samwell smiled. “Good. I’m glad.” He removed a new jar of salve from his bag and said she could keep it. He asked to check the wound and when Brienne agreed, he looked and said, “Can the lady have privacy, Mr. Lannister?” 

“Of course, yes,” Jaime agreed. 

Certain he was gone, Samwell seemed to forget he’d suggested a look at the injury. “Miss Brienne,” he whispered, “if you give me permission, I can go to Sheriff Seaworth about what Mr. Lannister did to you. He’ll be arrested and you’ll be sa-” 

“No!” Brienne shouted, surprising even herself with her loud conviction. She lowered her voice to say, “Please, no. I’m safer long as you’re the only person who knows I’m here.” 

“Are you sure?” Samwell asked. 

Brienne nodded. “Certain.” 

“What you don’t know, Miss Brienne,” the doctor went on, talking so quietly she had to bend nearer to his mouth, “is that Lannister is on a bit of a lifelong parole. One wrong move and he’ll hang. I would make sure the boy was taken care of, if that’s your concern.” 

She leaned back, looking at Samwell with a hint of disgust. She couldn’t blame him, though. Her first thought upon learning Jaime’s identity was to judge him evil. Knowing the risk Jaime put himself at to not only look after Podrick but harbor an outlaw put a dent in Brienne’s theory that Jaime Lannister was corrupt. She spoke up when she said, “I know Mr. Lannister told you he shot me but truth is, Doctor, he had every right to. And odd as it sounds, he’s done nothing but ensure my safety since.” 

On the other side of the wall, Jaime eavesdropped, touched by what she said in reaction to whatever the doctor had whispered. He listened as Samwell examined her and deemed her to be healing well. Jaime scrambled away when the doctor exited the barn, and a moment later Brienne followed as she fastened a button of her shirt. The two of them locked eyes and she decided to button the last two, drawing the collar closed tight around her throat. 

“Doc give a clean bill of health?” Jaime asked. 

“Yes, despite your best efforts he said I’m fine.” 

“I was never aiming to kill you,” he said. 

“My guess is you aimed for my head and missed by that much.” 

Jaime scoffed at her suggestion. “I’m an expert marksman, Miss Brienne. If I’d wanted to kill you, you’d be buried behind the stables.” 

She glared at him. Brienne found him infuriating and she had a retort on the tip of her tongue. Yet she had the odd urge to smile. There was something strangely comforting in their rapport, something amusing. A spark, a bite. She was reminded of the way she’d bickered with Theon and the Stark boys, but what she felt with Jaime was different. 

* 

Days passed without unwelcome guests on the ranch. Brienne still slept in the barn, but she took to spending more time in the house. She offered to tighten the hitching rail or work the stables, but Jaime feared it was too soon for tinkering or hard labor. “I shot you, remember?” 

She glared at him. “I won’t soon forget,” she said, and resigned herself to the sidelines until one afternoon when she heard Jaime struggling with a mare. 

Brienne walked from the porch to the corral and watched Jaime fix the horse to the snubbing post. He had explained how he purchased cheap horses – they had been injured, sick, maimed, abandoned – and trained them to be sold at a slightly higher price. He presented a bargain to his customers but was still able to make a profit because of how little the horses had cost him in the first place. He refrained from telling her about the loan Baelish gave him, and how he’d not yet been able to pay it back. 

“What happened to her?” Brienne asked, noting what appeared to be scars from a bad burn on one flank and her forehead. 

“Wagon fire,” Jaime said. “No one ever wants to take her but I’m still training her to ride.” 

She approached the horse slowly and let the mare sniff her head. The skin was marred, missing hair. _Ugly_ , she presumed is what people thought. People only wanted to buy things that were pretty to look at. “Does she have a name?” 

“Lady Luck. It was given to her before the fire.” 

The mare’s ears flicked back and forth. Brienne gently touched Lady’s Luck’s cheek and the horse snorted. “Okay, it’s alright,” Brienne said, taking a step back, and when the mare had calmed, she tried again. 

“She likes you,” Jaime said, observing how Lady Luck’s ears perked forward. “Would you like to try?” He handed Brienne the reins and stepped aside as she walked Lady Luck in small, tight circles. 

* 

Jaime avoided a trip into town until the three of them had to ration one piece of bread for breakfast. He had asked Brienne if she needed anything and she said, “Soap, if it isn't too much.” She’d been washing with a basin and flannel, but felt her wound had healed enough and she longed to be submerged in water and scrubbed clean. He remembered about the soap as he paid for the food, and Jaime found himself so distracted by the thought of her in his tub that he didn’t hear Mrs. Frye ask, “You payin’ now or do I gotta call the Sheriff?” 

He paid and carried the rucksack over his shoulder to where Applejack was hitched. He saw someone hammering a nail, hanging a piece of paper on the outside of the barber shop across the way. Jaime waited until they were gone and crossed over. The large letters above the drawing of a face became clear as he got closer – _WANTED._

The smaller print said _Brienne Tarth – aka The Beauty._ She was described as ugly and lumbering, but also a fast draw and expert marksman. Jaime read words like _dangerous_ and _murder_ and _reward_. He studied the portrait of her likeness and thought they didn’t draw her lips quite right. He fixated on the long hair framing her face and stopped himself from reaching out to touch the drawn strands. He leaned closer and noted the artist didn't do her eyes justice. 

* 

The bar of soap was wrapped in a piece of paper and held together by a string. Brienne held it on the palm of her hand, thinking it a precious gift, and reverently removed it from the wrapping. Jaime and Podrick had left her alone in the house with a roaring fire and a copper tub filled with water – as warm as they could make it. She trusted them to keep out, but as a force of habit, she kept her revolver on top of the folded flannel on the floor. 

She shed her clothes and stepped in, bending her knees until she felt the bottom of the tub. It was too small to recline, but she could sit with her knees drawn to her chest or legs curled to one side. The water turned milky white as she rubbed the soap under her arms and across every inch of skin she could reach. Brienne dunked her head in, working up a lather in her hair and scratching it into her scalp. Feeling cleaner instantly made her feel better – healthier, stronger. 

The crackle of the fire was calming and Brienne closed her eyes. She thought about the work she’d been doing with Lady Luck and what a fine life it could be to work on such a ranch. She liked the labor and the dirt, and the satisfaction of seeing the animals respond to their training. 

Brienne’s spell was broken when the door popped open and slammed against the wall. She reached over the side of the tub for her revolver and stood, splashing water over the sides. She pointed at the door until her eyes registered it was Jaime. 

“What the-” 

“Hide!” he shouted, averting his gaze once he knew she’d comprehended the message. 

Brienne moved quickly out of the tub, grabbing her clothes and holding them against her body as she ran for Jaime’s room. “Podrick?” she asked, and Jaime explained he’d gotten him safely to the stables. 

There was a knock on the door the minute Brienne made it to his room. Jaime could see through the window it was Petyr Baelish. He noticed she’d left a trail of water on the floor and quickly removed his shirt, dunked his hair in the tub, and splashed his pants. 

Jaime opened the door and the other man let himself in, eyes immediately landing on the tub. “Did I interrupt something?” 

“Cleaning up after a day in the muck,” Jaime told him. 

Petyr eyed the room and Jaime suspiciously. “I have an idea,” he said. “One that would help you pay me back and restore this place well enough to sell it. You could leave a free man and prospect for gold.” 

“What’s that?” Jaime asked, folding his arms. 

“I saw you in town. You saw the new wanted poster. Brienne Tarth. The Beauty,” he said, punctuated by laughter. “Her face looks like a dime’s worth of dog meat.” 

Jaime dropped his arms to his sides and clenched his hands into fists. He almost argued that the artist’s rendering failed to capture the more alluring details of her face. 

“There’s a reward for the man who drags her dead body back to Winterfell and Roose Bolton. There’s nothing keeping you here but a few sad horses and the terms of your parole. I’ll give you the resources to find the lady beast and the bounty can help settle your debts.” 

Jaime felt the color drain from his face. “I’m not a hired gun.” 

“You’ll be whatever you need to, Lannister. You won’t be violating the terms of your sentence because it’ll be on the up and up.” Petyr paused, flicking away a piece of fuzz that had landed on the sleeve of his coat. “I’ve already got men on the hunt for her. I’m collecting that bounty regardless of you. I’m simply giving you a chance to get in on it.” He winked and turned for the door, letting himself out. 

When he saw Petyr shook the reins and the horse took off, pulling the buggy, Jaime called out, “He’s gone.” 

The bedroom door creaked open. Brienne appeared in the doorway. She was clothed, but the shirt clung to her wet skin. She considered pretending she heard not a word of the conversation, but she knew the set of her eyes betrayed her. There was terror there. Terror and skepticism. “I wonder how much I’m worth dead?” 

Jaime took several quick, wide strides to her. 

Brienne flinched at the proximity, at the intense weight of his gaze and the nearness of his naked chest. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Jaime pleaded. 

“You need money, I know. You already shot me once. What’s a second time?” 

“I deeply regret that.” Jaime swore, “I would never do that to you. I promise.” 

“Why should I trust you?” 

“I haven’t turned you in yet.” 

“Only because if you do, you’re in just as much as trouble as I am. Until now.” 

Jaime reached for her hand then stopped, fastening both behind his back. “I promised. I always keep my promises.” 

“I believe that, Mr. Lannister. But I must depart.” 

“You don’t have to go,” Jaime said. 

“It’s time. I thank you for not killing me and for letting me recuperate here, but Bolton is closing in on me. You heard that weasel Baelish. He has men looking for me. And I know harboring a fugitive could cost you everything.” 

Jaime knew she was right. The sensible thing for her to do was keep moving, and why should he stop her? He shot her and no matter her reasoning, she planned to not only steal Applejack. She was a danger to his freedom and life. She was nothing to him but a nuisance. Another mouth to feed. Another poor orphan. Yet, he felt desperate to keep her there. “Baelish has no reason to think you’re here on my land. I doubt anyone is looking for you in Mistwood right now. The best thing you can do is stay. Everyone will assume you’re on the move.” 

She shook her head. “It’s too much of a risk. Am I supposed to stay locked up in the house so I can hide under your bed at a moment’s notice?” 

“Yes!” 

Brienne scoffed and kicked at the dirt. “I’m never to repay you?” 

“Right!” 

“You’ll be fine feeding and housing me when the most I can manage is to set the table? Maybe stay outside long enough to tighten the hitching post?” 

“Yes!” 

She closed the distance between her and Jaime. “Why? Why would you let someone like me stay here without ever being able to repay the debt? Why would you let my presence put you and Podrick in harm’s way? Why, Jaime?” 

“Because,” he said. 

“Because? That is a very grown-up answer.” 

“Because I like having you here,” Jaime admitted. He expected her to react well to his admission, but instead she looked like she’d tasted something sour. 

“Now I know you’re lying,” Brienne hissed. 

He shook his head. “I’m not lying. You have no idea how quiet this place was before Pod. And even then... something was always missing.” 

They both heard Podrick’s wild footsteps on the porch and the door opened, forcing Jaime and Brienne to cease their heated discussion and offer the boy a smile. 

* 

The air was thick with tension that had not dissipated long after Baelish’s departure. Jaime couldn’t breathe, not even when he left the bed to pour a drink. Especially not then when he could smell the soap in the air, the soap Brienne had used to clean her body, with every labored breath. 

He sat at the table, his back to the tub. The predominant thought on his mind was convincing Brienne he would never take Baelish up on the offer, but the smell of the soap took him back to the moment he walked in and she rose from the tub. Naked and dripping. 

Jaime knew he’d only looked at her for a matter of seconds but the image was seared in his brain. The water wavered around her knees, revealing her pale thighs and the tangle of blonde curls between them. He had already been familiar with her torso, but to see it slick with beads of water was altogether different. And her breasts – small but pert. He licked his lips, his mind wandering to obscene places, imagining closing his mouth around the pink tips. The taste and texture. 

It was indecent to think of her that way, but when he tried to stop his mind wandered to a more gruesome, violent place. Jaime imagined her staying on the ranch and being discovered by a gang of ruthless bounty hunters. He saw blood and heard anguished screams. 

He stood from the table. There was a time Jaime would have gladly taken Baelish’s offer. He would have done anything to escape Mistwood and what a prison the town had become. To escape the awful memories haunting the ranch. But things had changed, and Jaime wanted to go to the barn. To make her believe him. To kiss her. To look at her and say nothing at all. 

To keep her safe. 

He returned to the bedroom, hastily dressing and stepping into a pair of boots, not bothering with the laces. He grabbed items from the kitchen. Jaime found himself walking not to the barn but the stables. He found Lady Luck gnawing at a bushel of hay and released the mare from her stall. He readied her for travel and walked her to the corral before jogging to the barn and rousing Brienne. 

“What?” she snapped. 

Jaime began packing her rucksack with her few remaining belongings, and the food he’d brought from the house – non-perishables like apples and beans. He told her to dress and meet him in the corral. 

When she did, the sad look on her face stung Jaime. “I’m not forcing you out,” he explained. “I thought about what you said. I can’t imagine if... I don’t want to think... You’re not safe here, Miss Brienne. I want you to take Lady Luck and go.” 

“She’s not ready.” 

“I think she is. You’ve done fine work with her. If you leave now, you can be far out of Mistwood by sunrise. You have food and Doc Tarly’s salve.” 

She blinked. “What made you change your mind?” 

He paused a long while before saying, “It was selfish of me to demand you stay. Your life is more important than what I prefer.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Lannister.” She moved toward him but stopped. Extended her hand. 

Jaime reached out and shook her hand, holding onto her a moment too long, resisting when he felt her tug away. He watched her mount the horse and said, “Bare careful.” 

She nodded. “I promise.” She instructed Lady Lucky to turn and began a slow gallop away. Brienne looked over her shoulder at Jaime. 

He lifted his hand to wave and watched as the two of them moved further and further into the distance, disappearing into the cloak of night.


	4. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion brings Jaime and Brienne closer than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While the show kept them separated for eons and eons, I did not want to do that. There is no slow burn in this story.

Jaime told Podrick it was best to forget Miss Brienne. It was safer for them and for her. He told the boy to pretend she’d never been there, but both of them spent supper casting forlorn glances at the empty chair she’d occupied. Each caught the other gazing longingly toward the barn. 

* 

Her shelter for the night was the empty stables of an abandoned property. It was the only structure on a long stretch of land. 

Brienne reached into her bag, feeling around for one of the apples Jaime had packed. She found he’d also sent her away with a clean flannel and two shirts. She removed one and held it to her face, drawing in a deep breath and trying to find his scent clinging to the material. The act – full of longing, a bit wanton – surprised her and she stuffed the shirt back to the bottom of the sack. 

* 

“I think the horses miss her,” Jaime said, breaking his own rule about pretending Brienne Tarth had never stepped foot on the ranch. 

Podrick nodded in agreement. “Do you miss her?” 

Jaime swallowed against the lump heavy in his throat. He coaxed Applejack up and out of his stall. He changed the subject, asking the boy to run and fill a bucket with water. 

* 

The rivers were scarce as Brienne rode further from Mistwood. She needed to fill her canteen with clean water and kept her head down as she rode into a ramshackle town. 

A young girl was selling dried fruit and Brienne earned a sweet, “Thank you, sir,” when she bought a bag. Walking away, she overheard two men say _Lannister_ and pretended the laces on her boots had come undone. 

Brienne knelt in the dirt, listening as she untied and tied the laces. The men were plotting in angry whispers, but she caught enough to know Jaime and the ranch were in trouble. It seemed his enemies stretched far and wide, and everyone knew his best chance of making money and restoring the ranch was through the horses and sheep. “A little poison and...” 

She didn’t hear everything but she’d heard enough. 

* 

Jaime sat on the porch holding a glass of whiskey on his knee. He’d taken to sitting there after Podrick went off to bed. He spent all day working hard to ignore the memory of Brienne, but at night he allowed himself to sulk. 

He heard the heavy, frantic rhythm of hooves beating down the path before he could see the horse. Jaime set his glass on the ground, exchanging it for his rifle. He stood and walked down the stairs, pointing in the direction of the uninvited guest. But when the figure riding the horse came into focus, he lowered the weapon and whispered, “Brienne.” 

She yanked on Lady Luck’s reigns and the horse stopped with a spray of dust. 

“Miss Brienne? What are-” 

She dismounted and said, breathless, “I had to hurry back.” She told him about the conversation she’d overheard, wondered if he’d caught anyone prowling around the ranch at night. 

“Only you,” Jaime replied, smiling – far too pleased for a man hearing his livelihood was under threat. 

“Mr. Lannister, this is no joke.” 

He nodded. “I know. I haven’t seen anyone.” 

“You should be wary of what you buy in town.” 

“Yes, it sounds that way.” He took a step closer. “You came back just to tell me this?” 

Brienne took a step back. She folded her hands behind her back. “They were... frightening, Mr. Lannister. You need to work quickly to be able to sell the horses and breed the sheep. You should think of something else, something you can plant and grow here. You will need help.” 

“I don’t know where I could possibly find-” 

“I’ll stay. For a bit.” 

“It was enough that you came back to warn me,” Jaime said, and thought she looked wounded. He considered arguing for her safety, for going against what they’d decided when she left. But he smiled at the sight of her and hadn’t smiled – not genuinely – since they’d said goodbye. “You have no idea what it means to me that you’d do that. And that you’d stay to help.” 

Brienne smiled. 

“Let’s put Lady Luck back and go in the house,” he said. 

“I am fine in the ba-” 

“You don’t belong in a barn, Brienne.” 

Her stomach fluttered. For the first time, he’d dropped the formality of _Miss_ from her name. “Thank you.” She tried to make her tongue say _Jaime_ , but it felt too thick in her mouth. 

She walked alongside him to the stable. Once the mare was secure in her stall, Brienne said, “At least you have your horse back.” 

Jaime held her gaze. “She’s yours now. She’ll always be yours.” 

* 

She didn’t realize how much of a toll sleeping on hay and dirt had taken on her bones and muscles until she slept in Jaime’s bed. Brienne thought it must be as soft as the clouds in the sky. She reclined in the center and could spread her arms and legs without any part of her ever slipping off an edge. It was so glorious she felt guilty knowing Jaime was on the floor in the other room, which was likely worse than dirt and hay. 

Brienne opened her eyes to the darkness and flopped from her back to her stomach, pressing her face into the pillow. She was flooded with warmth upon realizing how everything surrounding her smelled of Jaime. It was masculine and earthy – sweat and leather, hay and grass. S 

Her peace was broken by a sudden noise from the other room. Brienne maneuvered into a seated position and listened carefully. She heard it a second time and could better identify it as a pained grunt. She found her revolver and crept out of the bedroom. By the light of the flames dancing in the fireplace, she could see there was no one but Jaime there. 

The only blanket he had to cover with was tangled around his legs. His body twitched, trapped in a nightmare, and Brienne knelt beside him. He was sleeping in only a pair of trousers and she tentatively touched his bare bicep, giving him a nudge. “Mr. Lannister.” When that did not stir Jaime, she leaned over him, gripping both of his shoulders to give him a shake. “Mr. Lannister!” 

Jaime’s eyes flew open and he lifted a hand to her neck, his fingers closing around her tender flesh. She gripped his wrist with both hands, tugging and prying his fingers loose as she said, “Jaime, stop. Jaime, it’s me.” 

With a sharp intake of breath, he let go. “Forgive me,” he said. 

“It’s alright. You were having a nightmare.” 

He nodded, remembering it all too well. It was the same nightmare he had been plagued by since Cersei and the boys were murdered. It wasn’t a nightmare at all, really. It was a memory – walking into the house to find their bloody bodies limp on the floor. Only this time, the bodies on the floor were Podrick and Brienne. 

“I won’t let it happen,” he said. 

“What?” she asked, standing from the floor. 

He climbed to his feet, putting himself at nearly the same height as her. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

Brienne saw Jaime’s eyes dip downward, taking an inventory of her state of dress – pantaloons, one of his old linen undershirts. The heaviness of his gaze reminded her that he’d seen her naked. He possessed intimate knowledge of what no man had seen before or seemed interested in seeing. “You should go back to sleep.” 

He protested the suggestion with a slight shake of his head. Jaime thought about how lonely he’d felt. How he’d missed her in a way he’d never expected to. He thought about the poster he’d seen hanging in town and how the sketch could never properly capture her eyes. He studied her lips, comparing them to the drawing, seeing how the artist had rendered them too thin, too hard. Her lips were plump and he wanted to know them well enough to draw them perfectly. Jaime leaned forward and Brienne tilted to the side. His lips brushed the corner of her mouth. He began to apologize but was rendered speechless when she lifted a hand to his chest, her fingers tracing the gnarled, pink scar tissue of his own bullet wounds. 

Jaime watched her face as he relished the feel of her surprisingly delicate fingers touch him. “I’m glad you’re staying,” he whispered. “If you help me restore the ranch, we can all leave.” He stopped short of saying _together_ , but the idea hung in the air between them. 

Brienne let her hand drop but Jaime caught her by the wrist. “I only wish it weren’t so dangerous,” she said. 

“We’ll work quickly. I’ll find a buyer.” 

“How will we stay hidden?” 

“We’ll make it work,” he promised, and then Jaime felt a tightening in his chest. He let go of her only to reach up and frame her face with his hands. “I’d like to kiss you,” he said. 

“Okay.” 

Jaime smiled and pulled her toward him, opening his mouth against her taut lips. He pressed tender kiss after kiss against her closed mouth and soon felt Brienne soften, opening to him. 

Her knees weakened and needing something to hold onto, she gripped the waistband of his trousers. She had never been kissed – nothing more than a peck – and never imagined she would be rendered boneless by the press of a man’s lips. Brienne never knew a kiss would tingle in her toes and flutter in her stomach. She pushed herself against Jaime’s sturdy frame, shocked by the way she rolled her hips, grinding against him. His hand cupped her bottom and she trembled and lurched back. 

Jaime panted, “I’m sorry.” 

Brienne shook her head. “It’s okay. It’s only that... I’m not ready for...” 

“Of course,” he said. “I got carried away.” 

She blushed and looked down at her feet. 

He took a step closer, reached for her and then held his hands behind his back. “We’ll start work in the morning?” 

Brienne nodded. “In the morning.” 

* 

The morning after her return to the ranch, Brienne could hardly remember why she had left in the first place. The fact she'd left without a proper farewell to Podrick made her heart ache. The idea of having never been kissed by Jaime was unthinkable. 

She had spent the sleepless hours after the kiss – back in the bedroom while Jaime returned to his spot on the floor – devising a plan to make staying on the ranch safe for them all. There was a route to the outhouse where she’d only be walking without a quick hiding spot for five paces. With the mountains behind them, it was unlikely for anyone to arrive on the ranch from anywhere but the main road. She would suggest anytime she needed to be outside, Podrick could be hidden and keeping watch from the roof and would spot unwelcome guests with enough time for them to hide. Brienne knew enough about outlaws who delayed capture for years to know it would not be easy, but also not impossible. 

Harder than keeping safe, she thought, would be getting the ranch in the right condition for sale. She devised a plan for that, too, and when she heard the floorboards squeak outside the bedroom and knew Jaime was awake, she bounded out to share it with him. 

* 

The days were long but productive. Podrick took his job of watchman seriously while Brienne and Jaime trained the horses and worked with the sheep. She tightened the hitching post and he patched the barn. He went into town for food and supplies, only buying from the shelves and not what the store had set aside for him. Brienne helped with the cooking. When Jaime suggested restoring the mint that used to grow on the land, she managed to repair the equipment and he bought the seeds. 

Before she could dig holes and sprinkle seeds in evenly spaced rows, she and Jaime had to till the land. They knelt in the dirt, pulling weeds and rocks. They started at opposite ends and met in the middle, one in front of the other. 

Brienne felt something – a small rock, most likely – hit her back and turned her head to see Jaime grinning mischievously. She glared at him a moment before turning back around, only to feel another smack between her shoulder blades. She dug her fingers in the ground, scooping up a handful of soil. She twisted around and aimed her throw at Jaime’s chest. The clump landed softly beneath his throat and some trickled under the collar of his shirt. 

“Hey!” he shouted. 

“You started it,” Brienne reminded him. 

He shrugged and they both looked at the two small rocks he’d tossed at her. They dove for them at the same time, Jaime crawling closer to her. She got hold of one rock and he lunged for her, wrestling Brienne to the ground as she let loose a loud, unabashed cackle. It was a glorious sound and his own laughter overlapped it. His foot slipped and he collapsed on top of her, making her laugh again. 

Jaime lifted his head from where it had fallen above her shoulder. He grew quiet as he looked upon her face – open mouth, pink tongue, eyes squeezed shut – and watched as Brienne’s mirth slowly receded, and he could see the moment their closeness registered for her. 

She became aware of being pinned beneath Jaime, his thigh between her legs and his chest pressing against her breasts. Brienne sucked in a sharp gasp of breath as he bent his head, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that felt markedly different from their first. He noticed it too, finding he didn’t have to coax the movement out of her – her lips and tongue were responsive to his. 

Jaime lost himself in the moment, moaning as his tongue curled around hers and explored the recesses of her mouth. He only heard the roar of blood between his ears and didn’t know Brienne had begun to protest beneath him until she pinched his arm. He grunted, releasing her lips, and looked at her with worried eyes. 

“Podrick,” she said, nodding her head to the side, in the direction of the house where the boy kept watch on the roof. “He can see us.” 

Jaime nodded and rolled to the side. He climbed to his feet and reached a hand out, helping Brienne. She reached behind her head, her fingers brushing soil from the strands as Jaime looked to the house and said, “Far as I can tell he’s had his eyes on the road.” 

She smiled, blushed, and maneuvered back to the ground, continuing her work. 

Later, when she had started planting behind Jaime while he finished tilling the last row of soil, Brienne tossed a small rock and hit him square in the back. He flinched and yelped and she cackled, the sound music to his ears. 

* 

Each morning Jaime and Brienne met on the porch to discuss that day’s work, and each night after Podrick was asleep they met there again to wind down with a drink. It was Jaime who always poured the whisky or brandy and carried it out, but on an unusually warm evening Brienne took up the task. 

She stepped onto the porch and saw Jaime was already seated there, cleaning two revolvers. She set both glasses on the small table between their chairs and sat down. “Need help?” she asked. 

He smiled his appreciation but told her, “No, I’ve got this. You take a rest. You did a lot with the horses today.” 

“I did,” she agreed with pride. She settled back in her seat and watched Jaime as he finished up, leaving the cylinders empty of the bullets. 

He set the revolvers down and took up his glass. The whisky slid down his throat and settled warmly in his belly. Jaime looked to the sky and said, “Reckon a storm’s rolling in.” He saw movement through the corner of his eye and glanced to the side as Brienne picked up her gun. 

She had decided they should both always carry, but instead of loading it and sliding it back to the holster at her hip, she began to spin it on her trigger finger. She spun it forward and backward, alternating quickly between each direction. 

Jaime was impressed by the speed and reached over for his. He dropped the revolver within a few seconds and drew a laugh from Brienne. “Hey now,” he said, “not all of us came out of the womb a sharpshooter. What else can you do?” 

She stood and demonstrated tossing the gun behind her, over her shoulder, and catching it. She could repeat the move over and over and Jaime found himself standing as though his awe demanded it. 

“I’m a master of the only trick that matters,” he said. 

“And what is that?” she asked. 

“The quick draw.” 

Brienne did not waste a breath spinning her revolver back to its holster and drawing it again in the blink of an eye. “A master you said?” 

Jaime’s eyes twinkled at the competitive edge in her voice. He reached for the remaining weapon and holstered it. “On three?” he challenged. 

Her lips curled into a sly, satisfied grin. “On three.” 

Jaime counted down and they drew their guns, hers perhaps a fraction of a second sooner. “Again?” 

The second time, Brienne counted and there was no denying she lost. “Best of three?” 

He chuckled and agreed, holstering the gun. He counted and again drew first. “I won,” Jaime declared. 

Brienne rolled her eyes. “If I challenged you to use both hands I know I would win.” 

“You’re probably correct. I’ve never shot with my left hand.” 

“Well, I’ve been out of practice in general. Some ranch hand shot me.” 

“Ranch hand?” he repeated, offended. “You mean _the_ rancher?” 

She shrugged as he stepped forward. 

“I’m sure you meant to say the most handsome, fastest draw in not only Mistwood but all of Westeros accidentally shot you for attempted theft,” Jaime said, leering at her. He holstered his weapon as he moved toward her. 

She backed up against the edge of the railing as he closed in on her. “I’ll give you handsome but not fastest draw.” 

“How about most handsome, most talented kisser?” 

Brienne scoffed at the suggestion all the while blush crawled from her chest to her cheeks. 

Jaime stopped mere inches away. “You doubt the claim?” 

She nodded. 

He sighed and the tip of his tongue darted out to lick across his bottom lip. He lifted his hands to frame her face and pushed his hips forward, pinning her to the railing. Jaime tilted her head back, kissing the base of her neck, lightly grazing her skin with his beard. He dropped soft kisses along her jaw before claiming her lips. 

Brienne sank against him as the warm, wet slide of his tongue rendered her weak. She dropped her gun. She grabbed hold of the suspenders he wore and seemed to be trying to press as close to him as she could. Until, suddenly, she leaned her head back and released her hold on him with a gentle nudge. 

“Are you alright?” Jaime panted. 

She nodded. “Yes, of course.” 

Jaime sensed her discomfort and moved aside, giving her space. “Brienne,” he said after a beat. 

“Yes?” 

He hesitated before telling her, “For days now, you and I have kissed many times. Seventeen times, in fact.” 

She raised her eyebrows at the knowledge he’d been keeping track. He was right, though. They had been stealing kisses throughout the day when Podrick could not see, and more at night when he was asleep. 

“It’s not always me who initiates,” Jaime pointed out. “But it is always you who puts an end to it. Rather abruptly.” 

Brienne stammered a response, settling on, “I’m afraid of being caught.” 

“By Podrick? It wouldn’t be the end of the world. The boy knows what kissing is.” 

“Your beard scratches me,” she said, blurting it out, the thought obviously only then occurring to her. 

Jaime shook his head. “I don’t think you mind it.” His eyes softened as he approached her again, reaching for her hands. “Is it because we’re not husband and wife?” 

She shrugged and then shook her head. 

“Do you have someone back in Winterfell?” 

She laughed. “No.” 

“Do you not... do you not wish to kiss me anymore?” 

“Yes. I mean no. I mean no, I want to kiss you, Jaime.” 

He clenched his teeth, his eyes searching hers. 

Brienne said, “I know what happens after kissing.” 

“That’s why you stop? We don’t need to... make love,” he said, “if you’re not ready. It’s just that... I like being close to you. I like holding you. It seems you don’t.” 

“That’s not true,” she pleaded. “It’s not that I don’t want to m-make love. With you. Jaime.” She took in a shaky breath and confessed her truth in one long exhale. “I’m a virgin.” 

Jaime said nothing, and the lack of response only made Brienne more nervous. She lifted her hands to cover her face and soon felt him gently grasp her wrists, tugging her hands down. “It’s okay, Brienne. That’s not a bad thing.” 

“It’s not?” 

He shook his head. “It’s been... years since I’ve been with a woman. The past doesn’t matter. Only now.” 

Tears shined in her eyes and she smiled to hide the wobble of her chin. 

Jaime reached up to cup her chin. His thumb swept a soft line along her bottom lip. “I would never rush you or force you. Now that I understand, you can always let me know when to stop.” 

A rumble of thunder reminded them both of the storm clouds. 

“We should...” Jaime said, nodding to the door. 

“Yes,” she agreed, stopping for her gun while Jaime gathered the bullets from the table. 

Inside, Jaime picked up a lantern and handed it to Brienne so she could see her way to the bedroom. She made it halfway across the floor when she stopped and looked at him, her face aglow from the flickering light. 

“Something the matter?” he asked. 

“No. I wondered... would you sleep with me tonight? As in sleep beside me,” she clarified. 

Jaime answered with a wide smile. 

* 

His eyes fluttered open to the soft light of dawn through the gauzy curtains. Jaime closed them again, wanting to delay the morning in favor of remaining in bed with Brienne. She was curled up behind him, her breasts pressed against his back and her breath warm puffs of air on his neck. Their arms were tangled and Jaime couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so well. It seemed no nightmares could find him while he slumbered in the safety and comfort of her arms. 

Jaime felt her stir behind him and Brienne let go suddenly, rolling away onto her back, surprised by their proximity. She seemed almost embarrassed by the display of intimacy when Jaime maneuvered onto his other side to face her. “Good morning,” he said, his voice a raspy whisper. 

“Morning.” 

He decided not to draw attention to how they’d been tangled up, one of her legs trapped between his. It seemed Brienne needed some time to get used to the closeness and he was more than willing to participate in whatever she needed. “Sleep okay?” 

“Mmm hmm.” 

Jaime found her discomfort amusing and her innocence alluring. She was a conundrum – a woman in a tall, broad body with a fierce strength but delicate hands and astonishing blue eyes. A woman who had seen things, who had killed and trudged across rough terrain alone, but blushed at the thought of pressing her naked flesh to a man she clearly had an attraction to. 

“Best go before Podrick wakes,” Brienne said. 

Jaime agreed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He stood and stretched, twisted his torso side to side. “I’ll make coffee.” 

In the kitchen a moment later, Brienne walked out and said she was going to fill a bucket with fresh water to wash up. Jaime said, “I’ll go,” and headed for the door. He stopped and walked to where she stood, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth. 

* 

Throughout the day Brienne thought back to the previous night and waking in the morning curled around Jaime. She stood on the porch and watched him walk Lady Luck around the corral, thinking how unusual it was to be kissing and sleeping beside the man who shot her. The man she'd known of as a dishonorable killer. Brienne always thought if she ever got to be a Sheriff, she wouldn’t want to be like Jaime Lannister. Now she felt guilty for having ever thought ill of him. 

* 

Jaime hadn’t wanted to be presumptuous that Brienne wanted to share the bed with him again, and so when she announced the late hour and her intentions to sleep, he remained seated by the hearth. The embers died and he was about to throw a fresh log in when he heard her whisper, “Jaime? You’re not tired?” 

He hopped up from his seat and carried a candle to light his way across the room. “I reckon I am,” he said, setting the candle on the chest of drawers where two others already dripped wax into brass holders. 

Jaime stood, his back to Brienne where she sat on the edge of the bed furthest away from him. He undressed. Prior to stepping into the legs of his union suit, he looked at the nearby mirror and caught her sneaking a glance at his bare backside. He grinned, pulling the garment up and over his hips. He slid his arms into the sleeves and fastened the buttons. 

By the time Jaime extinguished the candles and turned around, Brienne had already slid under the covers and pulled them up to her neck. He folded his side of the blankets down and dented the mattress with his weight, jostling her. The two of them reclined side by side, their bodies still and stiff. He slowly tilted his head to look at her in the dark. “You did not kiss me today,” he said. 

She licked her lips. “ _You_ did not kiss _me_ ,” Brienne replied. 

“So, what you’re saying is, if I kiss you _now_ , you will kiss me back?” 

Brienne shrugged a shoulder, drawing a quiet laugh from Jaime as he scooted closer to her. He settled on his side, pressed against her. His hand moved under the blankets and he splayed his fingers against her stomach. She was still staring up at the ceiling and Jaime nuzzled against her neck. He kissed along her jaw, his beard scratching her. His fingers climbed from her belly to her chest and out from under the blankets to cup her chin. He tilted her head toward him and opened his mouth against hers, earning a soft moan from her at the contact. 

It seemed to Brienne that she twisted onto her side to face Jaime without conscious effort, as though her body instinctively sought the closeness of his. The covers slipped down to their hips and she thought she might melt – into him, into the bed. His hands were as hungry as his lips, squeezing her bottom and caressing her back. It felt like there was not a breath of space between them, yet Brienne could not press close enough to him. Jaime bent his knee, wedging between her legs, and she rubbed against him. The friction sent sparks of pleasure through her body and she shuddered. She wanted more and yet was frightened by the sensation, by feeling it and reacting to it with a man rather than by her own hand. 

Jaime grunted at the loss of contact when she leaned back and softly told him to stop. He obliged, rolling onto his back beside her, still pressed close. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. 

He found her hand between them on the bed and took hold of it. “Don’t ever be sorry.” 

“I want to... do more. I do." 

“It’s okay.” 

She scooted up onto her elbows. The blankets had shifted down almost to their feet and even in the dark she could see the tent in Jaime’s union suit. 

He knew where her gaze was pointed and strained even more against the cloth. The buttons would not be able to contain him much longer. Jaime reached for the blankets to cover himself but she grabbed his wrist, stopping him. He looked at her, curious, questioning. 

“Perhaps,” Brienne began, nervous, “I need... exposure.” 

Jaime smiled. 

“It’s embarrassing to... feel that... in front of you.” 

“No, no,” he said gently, lifting his head and shoulders from the bed. “You never have to be embarrassed.” 

Brienne lifted a hand to her chest, dragging her palm down her right breast, to her stomach, and stopping at the apex of her thighs. She looked at him, speaking without uttering a word. 

Jaime understood – she was showing him what she was comfortable with on her own, but not with him. He settled on his side as she sank to her back again. He touched her breast through the thin fabric of the shirt she wore, rubbing until her nipple hardened beneath his thumb. He leaned forward and bent his head, sucking the hard peak into his mouth, dampening the cloth. He stopped to glance up at Brienne and she offered a slight nod of encouragement. 

He slid his hand down and first cupped between her legs over her pantaloons. He rubbed her there and soon felt Brienne roll her hips, pushing against his touch. He folded her shirt up a ways and his finger teased at the waistband of her pants. Jaime asked, “Is this okay?” 

“Y-yes,” she panted, and they both knew her breathlessness was no longer from nerves but arousal. 

He slid his hand beneath the cloth and traced along the slit of her cunt. He felt the damp, wiry hairs and then the slick, heated flesh. Jaime watched her face as he thrust one gentle finger in and out – stretching her, surprising her. He listened to her rhythmic pants of breath as he rubbed the pads of his fingers against her hard bud, his touch increasingly firm and fast until Brienne bucked her hips off the bed and squeezed her thighs around his hand. Jaime kissed her as the waves of her climax trembled through her body, swallowing any noise she made. 

Brienne caught her breath and became aware of the hard bulge pressing against her hip. She was inexperienced but not naïve; she knew Jaime had needs and wants, and she knew what he’d done to her likely only elevated those desires. It was still strange for her to believe she had that impact on a man, but the evidence was there. She maneuvered onto her side, facing him, and tentatively reached her hand down between their bodies. 

Jaime twitched when he felt her hand graze him and he said, “You don’t have to.” 

“I know but... I’ve heard men talk. But I don’t know what... show me what feels good for you.” 

His breath snagged in his throat. He shifted onto his back and released the bottom two buttons of his union suit, murmuring at the relief as his cock sprang free. Jaime stroked himself once, twice, and then Brienne’s hand took his place. She felt the weight of him in her hand and swirled her thumb over the head, making Jaime jerk his hips. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, letting go, mistaking it for pain. 

He smiled and said, “It felt good.” He was aching and his body was humming and Jaime hated to be indecent, but he could hardly stand the wait. He pumped himself in his hand, tilting his head to gaze at her. His eyes squeezed shut, he came with a grunt and spilled into his palm. Jaime opened his eyes, thinking he was the more shameful of the two, but found Brienne gazing at him with tenderness and wonder. 

“I see,” she said. 

Jaime laughed quietly and she followed suit. “It’s all a bit silly, isn’t it?” he asked. She nodded and he knew if he touched her face he’d be burned by the blush staining her cheeks. He moved to the edge of the bed, finding a clean flannel to wipe himself. He returned and she was holding the covers up for him, and when he’d settled in beside her, Brienne drew the blankets down around them both. 

* 

She wished she had Catelyn or Sansa, or even Robb or Jon, to talk with. Brienne’s mind was overwhelmed with thoughts about her feelings for Jaime, what he’d done to her body, what she’d seen him do to his and what she wanted to do to his. It was all she thought about for an entire day. 

All her life, she’d been doing everything she could to hide herself from men. Aside from those she considered family, all they’d ever done was mock her and hurt her and take from her – money, her father. It was torturous that to evade capture Brienne had to pretend to be one of them. 

Jaime was different. Inexplicably, she wanted to be seen by him. 

It was that – coupled with the constant, delicious throb between her legs since he’d touched her the night before – that gave Brienne the bravery to wait, naked, for Jaime in the bedroom. 

He walked in, almost dropped the candle, and turned around with such swiftness he banged his knee into the doorframe. He cursed and said, “Sorry,” keeping his eyes squeezed shut even though he’d turned away. 

Brienne said, “Don’t be.” When he didn’t move, she added, “Jaime. Come back.” 

He rotated slowly. He gulped at the sight of her pale skin illuminated by the flickering flames of candles – one on the chest, two on the sill. Jaime found a place to set his candle before he dropped it and returned to the task of drinking her in with his eyes. The only flaws to her alabaster skin were the scar from where he’d shot her, bruising from their work in the field, and another scar along her thigh he’d need to ask about later. He’d felt the thatch of hair between her legs and the slick flesh beneath it, and he’d felt her small breasts. To see it was an altogether different thing, and when she turned around and gave him a view of the feminine curves of her backside, Jaime had to lean against the wall to support his weakened knees. 

He realized Brienne had turned around to extinguish the flames and he said, “No!” She winced at the urgency in his voice and, softer, Jaime told her, “I want to see you.” 

Brienne hesitated, but the need in his voice – for her – urged her to turn around. She began to walk and Jaime met her in the middle of the room, their bodies colliding and their mouths crashing. 

It was erotic to have her naked in his arms, her body wriggling against him, but Jaime longed to feel his skin against hers. He began to tear clumsily at his clothes and Brienne’s deft fingers stepped in. She tossed his shirt to the ground and wrapped her long arms around him, and Jaime moaned at the feel of her breasts and the thrum of her heartbeat against his chest. 

His hands roamed her back and gripped her bare bottom, squeezing her to him as he rolled his hips. Their lips parted as their eyes locked. “I’ve never slept with an outlaw,” Jaime said. 

“I’ve never slept with anyone,” Brienne responded. 

Jaime smiled and began to move toward the bed, propelling her backward until he could ease her onto the mattress. He dropped to his knees and tugged her to the edge, draping her impossibly long legs over his shoulders. He kissed along the inside of one thigh and then the other, and Brienne gripped a handful of the blankets when his tongue licked a line along the tender, pink flesh between her legs. 

Any residual embarrassment she had about intimacy dissolved. The sheer pleasure of what Jaime was doing outweighed everything else. Ever mindful of the fact they weren’t alone in the house, Brienne had to lift a hand to her face and bite down on her thumb to quiet the blissful scream burning her lungs. She writhed and whimpered, her body rigid with release. With a long sigh, she collapsed against the bed. 

Jaime stood and Brienne sat up. He strained inside his trousers and was grateful when she released the buttons, loosening the material so he could shove the rest of his clothing down his hips and to his ankles, kicking them away. When he was naked, he saw that she’d scooted back, her head on the pillows. He smiled at the sight of her and climbed onto the bed, stretching himself along her body. 

“You’re certain?” Jaime asked. 

She nodded and said, “Yes. Yes.” 

He kissed her slow and sweet. After an awkward moment of Brienne trying to get comfortable with her legs spread around him, Jaime reached between their bodies and took hold of his cock. He watched her face for signs of discomfort as he eased himself inside her. She was impossibly tight and wet and warm and it took great restraint not to thrust, burying himself. 

“Alright?” he asked. 

Brienne said, “Yes,” even as she winced. It wasn’t painful, just unfamiliar. A stretch, a pinch, and then the sensation of being full and complete and she wrapped her arms around him. 

He was careful, pumping his hips slowly, but when Brienne’s body seemed to coil around him and hold him even closer, Jaime let his desire take over. He held himself up on his forearms and drove into her with abandon. He groaned loudly and her face looked worried, her eyes pointing to the ceiling, toward the boy sleeping above them. Jaime wanted to remind her that Podrick could sleep through anything, but he couldn’t form the words. He could only collapse against her, crying out his release in the valley of soft, sweat-slicked skin between her breasts as he spilled onto her thigh. 

Brienne held him as his trembling subsided. She felt the tell-tale pressure of tears behind her eyes, and as Jaime moved to look at her, the saltwater dripped down to her temples. 

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, panicked. 

She shook her head. “No. Not at all. It was... I’ve always had family and friends,” Brienne explained. “But otherwise... I was alone. I thought I’d never feel this close to another person.” 

Jaime cupped his hand around her cheek. His thumb traced the curve of her bottom lip. “Neither did I.”

**Author's Note:**

> Here is an excerpt of the Jane Hirshfield poem the title is taken from:
> 
> And see how the flesh grows back  
> across a wound, with a great vehemence,  
> more strong  
> than the simple, untested surface before.  
> There's a name for it on horses,  
> when it comes back darker and raised: proud flesh,
> 
> as all flesh  
> is proud of its wounds, wears them  
> as honors given out after battle,  
> small triumphs pinned to the chest-
> 
> And when two people have loved each other  
> see how it is like a  
> scar between their bodies,  
> stronger, darker, and proud;  
> how the black cord makes of them a single fabric  
> that nothing can tear or mend.


End file.
